


The Devil of the Docks

by RedRowan



Series: Daredevil Bingo [2]
Category: Daredevil (Comics), Daredevil (TV), Marvel 1602
Genre: Alternate Universe - Elizabethan Era, F/M, Marvel 1602 Universe, Marvel 311
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-15
Updated: 2016-08-15
Packaged: 2018-08-08 21:56:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7775161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedRowan/pseuds/RedRowan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>London, 1603.</p><p>Captain Nelson returns to London, and hears tales of a Devil punishing criminals and saving the innocent.  </p><p>He can't help think of his old friend, the blind Irish bard Matthew Murdoch, and wonder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Devil of the Docks

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the "Wild Card" space on my Daredevil Bingo card.
> 
> AU: professors  |  Lent  |  Nelson and Murdock  |  sai  |  human interest story   
> ---|---|---|---|---  
> wearing each other's clothes  |  conviction  |  punch-drunk  |  scars  |  In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti   
> repeat de integro / of the law as it should be  |  taken in for questioning  |  WILD  
>  ★  
>  CARD  |  AU: serial killer  |  hearing loss   
> police station  |  passing the bar  |  grace  |  didn't realize they were dating  |  Foggy's Bloggy   
> AU: post-apocalyptic  |  jujutsu  |  speak of the devil  |  playing pool  |  interview   
>   
> AU - Elizabethan was on the prompt list, and that was pretty much catnip to me. Plus, I got to play with one of my favourite alternate universes from the comics, Neil Gaiman's 1602 universe (aka Earth-311). For anyone who hasn't read the original comic, Matt was a spy for Nick Fury (who served Queen Elizabeth), and was betrayed by Natasha Romanoff during the events of the comic. Elizabeth was assassinated, and Fury is presumed dead, so Matt is currently out of a job, except for his cover as a bard.

_If a Devil is one who dares, when others hold back, then I am happy to play the Devil in this Mystery, boy._ \- Matthew Murdoch, _Marvel 1602_

London, 1603

There is talk of plague in London everywhere, these days. Captain Nelson cannot escape it, not from his fellow sailors at the ports in France, not from his crew as they load their cargo, not from the crowds as they disembark at the quays on the Thames. He tires of it as it surrounds him on his way to Death’s Head Page’s workshop, seeing posies sold by urchins, hearing sermons shouted by Puritans of God’s punishment for harbouring witchbreed and sinners. Occasionally, for variety, the preachers speak of the plague as punishment for the King’s sins, rumoured to be myriad. Nelson knows these preachers will not be there for long.

So as Nelson waits for Death’s Head to emerge from his conversation with another ship’s captain, he is relieved that among the crowd of men outside the workshop, the conversation turns more outlandish.

“The Devil of the Docks, they call him,” says one.

“A creature black as night,” says another.

And, interestingly, a third: “I heard tell he was Irish.”

“Aye, and how would any man know that?”

“I heard it was his manner of speaking.”

“Mayhap he imitates the Irish manner to confuse his prey.”

“Aye, or mayhap the Devil hails from there. ’Tis a wild place, full of savages and Catholics.”

“Aye, ‘twould be much like the Catholics to send their Devil to London to torment honest Englishmen.”

Nelson chuckles, to think of a Catholic Devil. Though he prays to Christ Our Lord, he has spent too much time on the sea to believe that a man’s faith is the sole arbiter of his salvation or damnation. On the sea, he sees the truth of a man’s nature, Catholic and Protestant alike.

And as the other sailors argue over whether the Devil should be called such, or merely witchbreed, Nelson thinks of a tale he heard, of lowlanders who attacked a blind Irish bard and barely escaped with their lives. Nelson is sure it is the same blind Irishman who pays in gold for Nelson to ferry him across the seas, though Murdoch would only smile and say Nelson heard a fairy story from drunkards.

Nelson wonders where Murdoch has been since the last time Nelson carried him across the water. ’Twas shortly before the old Queen’s death, more than half a year ago. Murdoch had not needed Nelson to bring him back to England.

“Good Captain Nelson!” comes Death’s Head’s voice (so called for the ague that ravaged him many years ago, leaving his face so gaunt as to seem a skull). “Why, ’tis many a month since I saw you last!” Page puts his arm around Nelson’s shoulders and leads him into the workshop. “Pray, tell me the _Lady Kate_ is not harmed.”

“I fear she has not arrived in London unscathed,” says Nelson. “The Barbary corsairs grow bolder every year, and my lady may be fleet, but she’s only wood.”

Page claps his shoulder. “She’s a fine ship, and I’ll see that she’s a beauty once more before she sails again.”

“I thank you, Master Page. I’ll only trust her to the finest shipwright in England.”

“I’ll send my boy with you to see the damage.” Page nods and bustles off to find his son.

Nelson glances around the workshop, and in the cacophony of work, he sees a figure he had not expected.

“Why, ’tis Mistress Katharine!” he calls to the maid seated in the corner. “I had not thought to see you here.” Katharine, Page’s daughter, had taken a position as a servant in one Master McClintock’s house the last time Nelson had been in her father’s workshop. Yet here she is, ledgers spread out on the table before her, a quill in her hand.

“Captain Nelson,” she says shyly. “I see the seas have treated you well.”

“Not half so well as these months have treated you. Truly, if I thought you’d like the lot of a sailor’s wife, I’d ask your father for your hand today.”

She smiles, though not so playfully as she used to. “Then ’tis a pity, for I know too much of sailing and sailors.”

“Then, break, my heart, for Katharine Page’s sake.”

He’s interrupted by Katharine’s brother John, who follows him to where the _Lady Kate_ is berthed.

“’Twas a pleasure indeed to see your sister, John,” says Nelson. John merely shrugs. “I had thought she would be at Master McClintock’s house -“

“She lost her position,” says John sharply. “Forgive me, Captain, but ’tis not something my father wishes us to discuss.” John glances around them at the crowd. “Though half of London knows the story, it seems.”

Ah. Some scandal, then. Nelson’s heart sinks for Katharine, who has been nought but kind to him.

John only speaks of business from that point onward. He takes notes of the _Lady Kate_ ’s damage, and discusses repair options. He assures Nelson that his father’s workers will begin tomorrow.

Nelson takes a room above the Boar’s Head near the docks. The conversation in the tavern is, of course, of the plague. There is much complaint that the theatres and the bear-pits have been closed, for most of these men are sailors, and they enjoy London’s entertainments. Over the conversation, Nelson hears a familiar voice.

“ _And true, my love, would I have you be,  
But a spider’s love is a tangling thing…_ ”

Nelson glances over his shoulder, and sure enough, it’s a tall red-headed man singing, a bandage over his blind eyes, plucking his lute over a table of hardened sailors. One, a big man with a beard, sniffs audibly. Another wipes his sleeve over his eye.

A hush spreads out from the table, until the whole of the tavern hangs on every note. When the last one fades away, there is much thumping of mugs on tables and stamping of feet. Murdoch bows with a flourish, and coins are tossed onto the table before him.

“Murdoch!” Nelson calls as he approaches the bard. “I had feared some terrible fate had befallen you!”

The bard smiles as he sweeps the coins into his purse. “A change of fate, mayhap, good Captain Nelson, but none I’d call terrible.” His Irish accent lilts around the words, almost as musical as his singing. “And ’twould seem fate is kind today, for you and I to meet again.”

“So it would seem,” Nelson says, and he embraces Murdoch heartily. “Come, have a mug of ale or two.”

He guides Murdoch to his table, and seats him opposite his own mug of ale. Josie, the mistress of this establishment, glowers at him before slamming a mug down in front of Murdoch.

“Was that a new song?” Nelson says. “I think I have not heard it before.”

“Aye. ‘The Black Widow’s Heart.’ I’ve had much time to compose new songs.” Murdoch smiles. “And much to inspire them.”

“Some fair dame caught you in her web?”

“Caught me, aye.” And Murdoch’s teeth glint in the candlelight. “But could not keep me long.”

“’Tis a story you tell often,” comments Nelson. Murdoch shrugs modestly.

“This lady was…incomparable.”

“Incomparable in her beauty and her lack of virtues, no doubt,” says Nelson. He’s known the man for six years, they’ve drunk together many a time, and he’s seen Murdoch’s ease with women. “And how can you tell when a woman is fair?”

“I confess, I cannot,” says Murdoch.

“And yet, they always are.”

“They do say the Irish are a lucky folk.”

“I heard another tale of the Irish today,” says Nelson. “Of a Devil at the docks who speaks in your manner.”

“Aye? And what does this Devil do?”

“I know not. Have you heard the tales?”

Murdoch hesitates. “I hear some, but not all,” he says wryly. 

“You speak of the Devil of the Docks?” comes a voice from down the table. “I saw him once, two or three months hence. Fearsome he was.”

“Aye?” says Nelson. “And what did he do that was so fearsome?”

“Ye know the lass who works at the Nail and Firkin?”

“Nell?” says Murdoch. Nelson throws him a glance, not that he would know.

“Aye, we know her,” says Nelson, certain now that Murdoch has _known_ her, too.

“Some sailors, foreign sorts, thought ‘twould be good sport to force an honest Englishwoman to their will. I was takin’ a piss behind the Nail when they grabbed her. And before I could so much as draw a dagger, the Devil leapt upon them, like a great black…devil, ye ken? I’ve not seen the like, four of them and one of him, and not a mark upon him when he finished. Not like a swordsman, I’ve seen plenty of those. But some sort of magic is in him, lads.”

“A strange sort of Devil, who saves honest Englishwomen from rape,” comments Nelson. His eyes narrow as he looks at Murdoch, who smiles into his ale.

But there are more stories, as the tavern overhears them. Maids saved from rape. Men saved from cutpurses and stabbings. Murderers apprehended and left dangling from ropes outside the nightwatchman’s station. Baris the Turk claims to have even spoken to the Devil, and confirms his Irish accent.

And to all these tales, Nelson responds the same: “’Tis a curious Devil, who punishes the sinners and saves the righteous.” Off Murdoch’s enigmatic smile, he says, “Mayhap these tales will inspire your next ballad, Master Murdoch.”

“Aye. Mayhap.”

“Captain Nelson!” comes a small voice, and Nelson sees a small boy, dark eyes large in a pale face, peering over the edge of his table.

“Aye, boy, what would you with me?”

“Mistress Katharine bade me find you, and bring you to her father’s house.”

“Mistress Katharine?” says Murdoch, his head cocked to the side.

“Death’s Head Page’s daughter.”

Baris the Turk sniggers.

“Have you something to say, Baris?” demands Nelson.

“Nay. Mistress Page’s reputation speaks for itself.”

Nelson launches himself at the Turk, and only Murdoch’s strong arm across his chest stops him from reaching him.

“And what reputation does a good woman like her have?”

“You’ve not heard?” says the Turk smugly. “Why she lost her position at McClintock’s?” He leans back, sipping his ale. “McClintock’s secretary was discovered in her room. Both naked, so the tale goes. No doubt the girl’s belly is full now, so if you have any hopes in her, Nelson, be warned that another man’s bastard will be your lot.”

Nelson tries to lunge at the Turk, but Murdoch’s voice whispers in his ear, “’Tis no use, my friend, no amount of blows will change a man’s nature.” Nelson stops fighting against the Irishman, and rips himself out of his grip. “Go, help your friend,” Murdoch says.

Nelson follows the boy to Death’s Head’s house, but the boy does not lead him to the door. Instead, he is taken around the alleys behind, where he finds Katharine waiting at the scullery door.

“Captain Nelson, I’m sorry, sir, I did not know where to turn…” she stammers.

“’Tis no trouble, Katharine, but why did you bring me here?”

She holds out the leather folder in her hands.

“I fear you have heard the stain on my name by now,” she says. “But I swear to you, they are lies that Master McClintock spread to discredit me. These,” and she shakes the folder, “these are the reason I was dismissed, and the reason Master Fisher died tonight.”

“Master Fisher?”

“Master McClintock’s secretary.”

“The one they claimed…”

“They claimed was my lover,” she says, her voice as steely as any man Nelson has fought beside. “’Tis not true, I swear to our Lord Jesus Christ.”

Nelson looks at her, lit from the dim fires of the kitchen behind her.

“I believe you, Katharine.”

“I knew you would. Since it happened, you are the only one to show me kindness. And I need your help, Captain.”

Nelson nods. “You said Fisher died tonight.”

“He delivered this to me. Proof, of Master McClintock’s crimes. Then the cry went up no more than an hour ago that a man was dead in the street, and I ran out to see…’twas Master Fisher, and I have no doubt he was killed on Master McClintock’s orders.”

A chill runs down Nelson’s spine. “What are the papers there?”

“When I was at Master McClintock’s house, I overheard him speaking of letters of marque.”

“The King has discontinued the letters of marque.” Those letters, permits for privateers, were common under the old Queen, but the King has made his disapproval for them clear.

“I know it well. But Master McClintock spoke of creating them. For one ship in particular.”

“Did you hear the name of it?”

“The _Vanessa_.”

“The King’s Pin,” breathes Nelson.

“Sir?”

“The _Vanessa_ ’s captain is Wilson Fiske, the King’s Pin. A most notorious pirate.”

“Soon to be a most notorious privateer,” says Katharine. “I had no proof of Master McClintock’s forgery, but I spoke of it to Master Fisher. He was a good man, an honest man, and he said he would help me. But Master McClintock found us speaking, and I was disgraced. Master Fisher stole the papers here…” She brushes her hand over the leather.

“And now he is dead.”

She nods, a tear falling from her face.

“What would you have of me?”

“I cannot ask my father or my brother for help. They think I have disgraced our family, they would not listen to my story. And with Master Fisher’s death…I cannot endanger them. But, Captain, you are not known so well as my friend. I…can trust you with this.” She holds out folder, and Nelson takes it. “There is a man in Fleet Street, Benjamin Urich, a blackamoor. He runs a printing shop, and will print a pamphlet of this, if he has the proof in his hands.”

“I’ll have this in his hands within the hour.”

She nods, and he sees the set of her jaw, and thinks that he knows so few women with such courage and determination.

“Katharine…” he says.

“Captain, I was cruel to you today,” she says. “I know much of sailing and sailors, but to speak true…” She steps forward, and lays her hand on his. “I know no man on land or sea better than you.” And she must see the hope rise in his face, because she smiles. “If you would speak with my father tomorrow, I should be very happy indeed.”

And Nelson has no words, so he leans in and kisses her. 

“Fleet Street?” he says, tucking the folder into his doublet.

“Aye, Benjamin Urich.”

“I’ll speak to your father tomorrow.”

“I expect nothing less.”

He walks away on clouds and warm tides. They carry him through the narrow streets by the docks, through the shafts of light thrown by the houses. Dimly, through his haze, he hears footsteps behind him, first one, then two, then more. He speeds up, and they match him. He spares them a glance as he turns a corner, and sees only shadowy figures, cloaks masking their shapes. His heart starts pounding, and he breaks into a run, only to have his cloak yanked back and be thrown against a wall. A hand is over his mouth, and a dagger comes up to his throat, and his own on his belt is pulled out and thrown to the ground. A second man, the one not holding the dagger, roughly feels his body, until the crunch of paper is heard. The man reaches into his doublet to take the folder, and Nelson struggles to not let them take it, to not fail Katharine. He feels the sharp bite of the dagger against his throat, not deep, and the hot line of blood that trickles down.

And then the dagger is viciously pulled away from his throat, and Nelson registers the figure all in black, his saviour, throwing his assailants left and right. The Devil of the Docks. The old sailor was right, there is some sort of magic in him. He fights with two short clubs, raining blows on his opponents, but his whole body fights in a way Nelson has never seen before. He kicks out, then flips his whole body up and over his attacker, landing behind the man and sending him sprawling with a kick to his back. Nelson cannot make out his face, and then realizes it is because the man (and it _is_ a man, Nelson is sure) has a black cloth tied over his eyes and hair.

And then it is over, the Devil standing over Nelson’s attackers.

“I…thank you, sir,” says Nelson.

The Devil bends and scoops up Nelson’s dagger, and holds it out to him, hilt-first. Nelson takes it.

“’Tis a dangerous place, this London,” the Devil whispers, an Irish lilt in his voice.

“Aye,” Nelson says. “Full of devils, I have heard tell.”

The Devil grins, his teeth white in the darkness. “You have nought to fear from devils, Captain,” he says. “’Tis men who are the danger.” He bows, as gracefully as any actor Nelson has seen at the theatre. “Have a care, Captain.”

And then he jumps, his boots hitting the wall above Nelson’s head, throwing himself ever upwards until Nelson loses sight of him on the roof. Nelson mutters a prayer to Christ to protect him, and continues on to Fleet Street. He senses that he is followed, but it is not a threatening presence. Simply his guardian Devil, silent on the roofs above.

Master Urich is unhappy to be woken at this hour, but once he reads Katharine’s papers, his eyes alight with the some fierce determination. As he puts together the pamphlet, Mistress Urich lays down blankets by the fire, and bids Nelson sleep. Nelson, barely able to keep his eyes open, lies down and listens to the rattle of Urich’s printing press, letting the sound soothe him to sleep.

Death’s Head Page is surprised the next day when Nelson asks for Katharine’s hand. Nelson shows him Urich’s pamphlet, and tells him of Katharine’s bravery, and how deeply he admires her.

“Were’t not for her, the King’s Pin would have the means to start a war with Spain,” he says. Death’s Head shudders, for he, too, knows the King’s Pin’s reputation. 

“Katharine,” Death’s Head says sternly. “Will you be a good wife to Captain Nelson?”

“Aye, Father,” she says. “If he’ll have me.”

“I will,” says Nelson. “With all my heart, I will.”

The marriage is set for the next time Nelson returns to London; he has only a short voyage to France once the repairs are finished. He promises to bring Katharine a fine wedding present.

While the _Lady Kate_ is being repaired before the voyage, Nelson hears more talk of the Devil of the Docks. An apprentice abducted by Russian thieves, saved by the Devil, is a favourite tale. Nelson notices that Murdoch moves a little more slowly in the days after that adventure.

“Need you passage to France?” Nelson says over their ales at the Boar’s Head, the day before he is to leave. “I sense you are a man who grows restless if you are in one place too long.”

Murdoch laughs. “Aye, I am. But London suits me, for now. So many ears, eager for new songs.”

“And so many tales, to be spun into those songs.”

“’Tis true.” He takes a drink. “I thank you, Captain, but my place, for now, is here. London has need of me.”

Nelson looks at him, and smiles. “My friend, I believe it does.”

**Author's Note:**

> On naming the Pages:
> 
> Karen and Kevin are _very_ 20th century names, in that they barely existed in the English-speaking world before then. Gaiman played with the character names in the original comic, so I felt pretty OK with changing the Pages' names to something more period-appropriate. Katharine seemed like a decent approximation of Karen, plus it was one of the most consistently popular names in the Tudor period. I couldn't find any common men's names that resembled Kevin, so I went with John as a nice, innocuous name for the younger Master Page.
> 
> Death's Head is, of course, Paxton Page's alter ego in the 616 universe.


End file.
